


Between Two Jokers

by ASignificantWhisper



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Blood Kink, Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Cunnilingus, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, F/M, Fight Sex, Fighting Kink, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Killing, Loss of Virginity, Masturbation, More tags to be added as the chapters go on, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Public Sex, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Sexual Roleplay, Smut, There is NO incest between brothers in this fic, Threesome, Threesome - F/F/M, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Violent Sex, Voyeurism, both twins are the Joker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 19:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14775737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASignificantWhisper/pseuds/ASignificantWhisper
Summary: You're in love with Jerome Valeska, but Jeremiah Valeska wants everything you have and more, for himself. You seek out and accept an invitation into their world, discovering that sibling rivalry runs deeper than bloodlust.





	Between Two Jokers

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm back with another WIP... *sigh* Look, I just go with what my messy writer brain tells me. And I have been having MAJOR inspiration for this fandom, for these characters. I've wanted to get my hands on my keyboard to write for Jeremiah since we knew he was coming to the show. Of course I missed my main man Jerome. A few things to go over : 
> 
> THERE IS ABSOLUTELY NO INCEST IN THIS. The reader will sleep with both of them at the same time, but the twins will not have sexual encounters of any kind. This is not that kinda fic and I'm not going to ever write that kind of thing. 
> 
> I don't know how frequently I'll update this fic. You know me, lol. But I do have high inspiration for it right now and I'm thinking this won't be too long of a story. I know there's a lot of tags, but I gotta warn you, haha. There will be more as the chapters go on. I'll put warnings for what happens in each chapter as well. 
> 
> There's a reference to the comics in here. ; )
> 
> This fic is utter trash. It'll have so much smut, but also story as well. It's AU since Jerome is alive. But I'm calling it cannon. :D I'm also referring to both boys as the Joker. I'll integrate it in somehow. Anyways, I'll quit rambling. Enjoy! I hope Jeremiah is written okay? I'm nervous writing for him. Let me know if you want it to continue, what you think, e.t.c.... 
> 
> Find me on my Tumblr : wroteclassicaly.tumblr.com & my new Tumblr (just for my work) letsgetcaughtintherain.tumblr.com 
> 
> xo

It all started out as a competition amongst brothers, you reflect, flexing your wrists against the cuffs. You should have known better than to get involved in your fucked up fantasies. Reality is already reminding you of that. Unclenching your teeth, you let yourself give into resting your knuckles to the concrete, overly shaped to the point of pain. You used to be so sure you'd be a wild siren if it happened.

  
Your fingers got you off to thoughts of sensual montages where you took pain and flourished with it. Problem with that is, well, you didn't factor that pesky ass thing called reality happening. Now here you are all spread eagled, naked as the day your mother birthed you, your ankles bound, your wrists chained, all four limbs to the cement wall. You're tired, overwhelmed, panting yourself into thirst at each bumbling breath you take. Maybe if you could predict your survival of the situation you willingly consented to, you'd relax a little more.

  
_Yeah, not happening bitch._

  
Licking your teeth to accumulate some extra moisture buys you time away from negative thinking. You try and sink into your predicament, pushing past all your sweat slick, aching muscles that feel heavy, blood boiling. _Focus, focus._ Eyes close to welcome some darkness but it stings, it heightens everything you're feeling, lifting your pulse that is wedged between biting, cool metal and your warm, soft flesh. Why didn't one of them blindfold you?

  
Would have made it easier on everybody, perhaps. You don't fuss anymore over the binds, instead zeroing in on that quiet, hollow sound. The rest of the building lies on Gotham's outskirts, blanketed in darkness, lush in activity. It was a timely, yet fancy sort of modern when you'd arrived. Built in marble, black iron gates to enclose it, brick steps that led into it's arched doorway.

  
Beyond that was a significant property that resembled some kind of mixed up mansion. A maniac mansion. Conflicting styles overtook you at every turn, publishing themselves over what already had been here at the building's birth. Wooden doors, steel doors, a spiral staircase that led to each floor. Concrete walls held designs that you weren't aware could exist.

  
The hallway that led you down to where you reside, each side was layered differently. To your right was covered in comic like graffiti. Smiles, big eyes, **HAHAHA** snarling in a lavish red on every cool inch it could cover, even some split the door that took you here. You knew the artist of that wall. And the left? It was clear who that architect was.

  
Maps, blue prints, drawings, scratches of numbers and doodles littered about. More dangerously driven, clashing head on into the chaos surrounding your right side. You had felt it going all the way through, that eerily delicious fear. Then, then you were sort of braced for this.

  
But now? You let those fallen princes lead you into their darkness, you tangled yourself in their combat. Just one wasn't going to do. They had wagged a finger at you before pointing between your shaky legs. The dark inside, swirling inside their eyes, licking at your every muscle to pay attention.

  
Two mad virgins and their willing, pure as the driven snow wannabe sidekick. You came to them expecting nothing, but craving everything. You didn't intend to be some purged half-wit. Jerome was alive for a second time, needing more followers. That was your initial reason for seeking them out.

  
You wanted Jerome Valeska more than you wanted your next breath. Jeremiah Valeska, though, he seemed to catch something in you he had informed you he could practically smell, and that he wanted it first, he wanted it more. He wanted **_/you/._ ** He said his fingers had trembled in thoughts of demolishing you, rewarding you enough to preserve your beauty, but re-creating your depths.

  
He said Jerome was too chaotic, too crazy to see how lucky he was and how deep your devotion ran, your love. You saw a fire behind his violently beautiful eyes. The one thing Jerome had that Jeremiah didn't : you were in love with his twin. Jeremiah had managed to gain his mother's love, a better life for himself and you, you wanted to give the world to Jerome, starting with yourself, then with Gotham. You mentioned Jeremiah had someone already.

  
He snorted so hard that he tossed his head back. Her devotion was genuine, but he wanted your love. It confused you. He was more unpredictable, terrifying than Jerome. He couldn't feel anything, could he?

  
Besides power, greed, anger, bloodlust, Jeremiah was substantially insane beyond any human spectrum, you had thought. He sensed your thoughts, whispering in your ear, his strong hand twirling a lock of your hair around a powder white finger.

  
"I want to taste all things that man should. Power, life, death, destruction," That cool hand squeezed your neck, jumpstarting your air supply. His shadow hovering over you, icy red lips edging your ear, milky white teeth scraping the blushing skin. "the wet walls between your legs. I want it all, starting with you."

  
Jerome didn't want to share you of course, so thus erupted a vile sibling rivalry. You'd never watched a knife or gun fight within the span of two minutes. Then it was Jerome who had came up with the idea, knowing Jeremiah would be too dangerously persistent to have you. See who does it best. Jeremiah looked devilishly intrigued by a competition of the anatomy, whilst Jerome promised you he'd win, and poured out his crude demonstrative hand gestures on you.

  
It was all so overly dramatic and mind boggling. Both wanted you this much? You knew they were more or less using you against the other but you didn't care. You'd go along with this, being wanted by Gotham's most notorious and the most beautiful men you'd ever laid eyes on. Any attention from Jerome, any moments spent with him was better than nothing at all.

  
 And you weren't dare going to defy Jeremiah.

  
A heavy sound causes your past replay to dissipate, your eyes snapping to your far right. The heavy door opens and closes, slow footsteps clicking across the stairwell. Light is briefly flooding your eyes as some mechanism makes noise, immediately bathing the room with its rays. The floor is a solid gray, almost marble smooth, but the walls are coated in a yellow and black damask wallpaper. You start scanning everything you see without pause, grateful you hadn't received a blindfold after all. 

  
Chic, modern lights spot each portion of your surroundings. It's not sterile like you expect it to be. Not a torture chamber dungeon type thing either. There's a large black oak cabinet that towers behind an oak desk, classic, however sinister in presentation. In front of the desk are two sofa chairs.

  
Nothing else seems to be in here, within your range of sight anyways. You hadn't noticed this when you were brought down here. Too dark. Not exactly a room winning a spot in the Better Homes and Gardens magazine but it's.... cozy enough. For two psychotic mastermind criminals, you give it an A+.

  
The footfalls are delicate, thorough. It's almost as if you taste the leather of the shoes moving towards you. His scent is already engorging your senses, cool on the air, igniting your arms with goosebumps. Your tongue is wiggling across your teeth, wetting your lips within its process. The atmosphere is charging rapidly, circling a preying build.

  
You know who this one is. It's ** _him._ **

That giving difference in approach proves it. Your body arches out like some fucked up gravitational pull, angled legs trying to close against the now damp air, teeth pulling in your bottom lip until you feel your skin shred, copper tainting your taste buds, your knuckles bashing back into the wall that houses you, nails clenching into your sweaty palms. Your blood is churning, your skin suddenly heavy, itchy, your neck prickling with a twisting fear that hurtles adrenaline right into your heaving chest.

  
His shadow enters before he does. Like a dark cloud spreading out to reveal an angel with even darker wings. But he's not an angel, not even befitting to fall in society's standards. To you, you're not sure what he is yet. All you know is that he isn't the one you're in love with.

  
"My, my is this an unusual sight, even for someone with my educated caliber."

  
Their voices are identical to every last letter, their boyish charm slithering around every syllable. It is the deliverance that differs though. Jerome is more goofy, more high and bouncy with his excited octaves. He speaks deep and scratchy, rubbing at you in places you didn't think existed inside you. Jeremiah seems to build his words, thinking on them, acting as if he's a personified Shakespeare. He's calmer, more accented.

  
So similar, fused alike, although completely unrecognizably different. Between who they were 'before' all this, you're thinking there's over four versions of them all twisted in stained knots.

  
You're observing his shadow that steals all spotlight, this room bending to his movements, he the puppet master. Describing him leaves you feeling like you'd been skydiving without a parachute, landing in a vat of acid. He seems to hot wire circuits inside you that render you capable of corruption. It's too much to process that you find yourself again unprepared to see him, wiggling around the chains that bind you, before you fall so still you could become a statue perch. Jeremiah Valeska is stepping right in front of you, that cold, powder pale face transitioning over what looks like decisions.

  
You just wonder which ones he'll make.

  
He is a sight to behold, one you can't not stare at. Your vision is dotting in fuzzy shapes, zoning in on this darkened creature. White skin like fine marble, pearl glossed teeth sheathed under beautifully plump red lips, jet black hair so striking it resembles another color you can't quite place, and those eyes, oh those fucking crazy eyes that look like a chemical imbalance of colors. His shoes are a shiny red, fine leather, his slacks a befitting cavern black attached to purple leather suspenders, his ensemble topped off by a crisp black dress shirt and a silk dark green tie, embroidered with red roses.

  
By the time you meet his gaze he's smirking at you, clasping his hands behind his back and letting them reappear with a key that he brings across your quivering thigh, jabbing its jagged edges into the strained tendons, before he dips the sharp side through your exposed wetness, eyes keeping contact with you for your entire reaction. It's cold and you jerk from it, trembling to get your next breaths out of your lungs. You feel like you're going to black out seeing him raise the key into the light, spare a look of longing between your legs, then he focusses on your shiny juices covering the metal. His jaw stretches to his genuine smile, his muscles bunching around his shirt as his bicep flexes and brings the key to his lips, pressing. Your belly throbs, punching an ache so painful into your pussy it could give cramps a run for their money.

  
"You're ready, Y/N. This is the key, my dear love."

  
You gulp in suspending awareness. Your arousal meant you accepted him and it was the key he wanted. He wants you down. He wants to start this. And god help you, your body is shrieking at you that you fucking want it too.


End file.
